


as they grow restless

by saintelmotxt



Series: be strong, my weary wolf; turn around boldly [2]
Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Campaign 01 Season 01: Fantasy High Freshman Year (Dimension 20), Fantasy High Freshman Year Spoilers (Dimension 20), Gen, aberfaeth but mostly platonic bc i subscribe firmly to emily axford's Aberfaeth BFFs Agenda, and this is already so self-indulgent, it's literally just the bad kids havin a brainstorm with abernant angst thrown in for ~flavour~, werewolf adaine babey!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintelmotxt/pseuds/saintelmotxt
Summary: adaine breaks her casting orb at ostentatia's party; the bad kids brainstorm what her new focus should be.(adaine very firmly does not think of the circumstances that led to it in the first place.)
Relationships: Adaine Abernant & Aelwyn Abernant, Adaine Abernant & The Bad Kids, The Bad Kids & The Bad Kids (Dimension 20)
Series: be strong, my weary wolf; turn around boldly [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014171
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	as they grow restless

**Author's Note:**

> cw for adaine flashing back to her Sororicide Attempt(TM); it's just mentions of blood and very metaphorical descriptions of the act. it's not exactly graphic and it's very quick, but still.

"please," adaine says, "for the last time, it _just_ needs to be magic, and preferably a weapon. maybe an instrument of blunt trauma. as a werewolf i've found that i'm _very_ good at inflicting physical damage."

"so what i'm hearing is," fig starts, slowly, turning her wrist to point her uncapped marker at adaine. the whiteboard behind her is covered in nearly unintelligible handwriting from various hands, and more than a handful bad drawings of insane contraptions, featuring at least two gun-sword hybrids. and one motorcycle, embellished with flawless calligraphy. "that's a _no_ on the flamethrower."

adaine lifts her head from her hands. "yes."

"that's a yes?"

" _no._ "

"so that's a--"

"i don't understand why a sabre is out of the question," fabian sniffs. "sabres are _cool._ "

"sabres require training to use, fabian," adaine refutes, though not without a forlorn glance at the crossed-out word on the whiteboard. "we don't have the time to make me a fencer while we have this whole palimpsest thing on our hands. if i got one now i'd just be waving it around like an idiot."

fabian's face scrunches up at the mental image. "fine. but _if_ we had the time?"

"then yes, i would like a sabre." adaine rolls her eyes, but that seems to gratify fabian enough that he drops it.

"i mean, it sounds like a focus isn't a hard requirement." kristen, twisted around on her chair so that both legs swing off an arm and the backrest is redundant, wiggles her crystal for emphasis. there's a wiki page open on arcane foci on it. "so worst case scenario adaine can still do magic without one."

"yes, but then i'd--" adaine frowns down at her loosely clasped hands, and

_(for a moment they are claws, slipping on the surface of a heavy glass ball, until the ball tumbles into empty air and her claws are free to flash silver and cold, sinking through skin like warm butter)_

knots them together so tightly that they do not shake. the brown of the table is many shades darker than the brown of her skin, especially where it pales at the knuckles, and when she looks at it, her hands pressed to the surface of it, she is reminded of _nothing._ what she thinks of, looking at her hands, is the shape of cold glass, comforting and sickening in its weight and expectation. it's under the table, somewhere, hidden under one of their bags, right where she'd placed it after watching the early afternoon sun setting its cracks alight stopped being novel and just started making her sick.

she could have mended it. but mending would only smooth the cracks over, and all she'd be left with is a faultless, completely mundane ball of glass. better to keep the cracks and see it for the broken thing that it is.

adaine breathes even and sure, then she clears her throat and continues, smoothing over the brief fracture in their conversation. "but then i'd have to keep pulling material components from my jacket every time a spell needs it, and not all of them cost less than ten gold." her friends, unfortunately, being her friends, fumble comfort her way anyway. smooth as anything, fig tilts back on her chair and swings her legs up so her sock-clad feet land in adaine's lap, weight enough to ground her without bogging her down. adaine doesn't quite manage the routine false-glare-of-exasperation her way. "it's easier to have a focus."

"i feel like we let this get away from us like, um, a few flamethrowers ago," says gorgug, scooting closer on her left side as subtly as a half-orc who caps off at six-four can. these days, adaine is tall enough that six-four is no longer daunting, but in no regards is it stealthy either. "maybe we should get back on what a focus can be."

"an orb, a crystal, a rod, a wand or a length of wood," riz rattles off. he'd been scribbling furiously through most of the brainstorming session, attempting to reconcile everything from the palimpsests to the bank to the evidence they'd found in aelwyn's room (storm evocation runes, a model of _the harpy,_ the _detect maiden_ spell-- adaine had wanted to feel triumphant at the confirmation of her sister's evildoing when she saw the pictures in the groupchat over breakfast in seacaster manor, but any feeling towards aelwyn is too quickly swallowed into the nauseating twist of not-guilt but not-vindication, so she doesn't. think of her at all) but he appears to have reached an impasse with the much-abused yellowpad under his third pen, and is now frustratedly doodling question marks around words he had encircled. "anything that can channel magic."

"and anything i can use to fight without magic," adaine adds.

"and you don't want a flamethrower, or a gun-sword, or a sabre," says fig.

fabian _hmm_ s thoughtfully, chair tilted back at a precarious angle. "what does that even leave you with?"

adaine watches riz tear another hole into the sheet of paper, and-- _oh._ "a gun."

the table falls quiet, exchanges looks, and then immediately explodes into a flurry of disagreement.

" _no_ \--"

"adaine, we're not giving you a gun--"

"oh my _god,_ adaine with a _gun_ \--"

"guys--"

" _riz_ has a gun! why does he get to--"

"why didn't you say yes to the gun-sword then?"

"can we--"

"it's _excessive_ \--"

"what happened to blunt trauma--"

a loud _bang_ cuts through the increasingly heated crosstalk, and sends fabian crashing to the floor in surprise.

gorgug takes his hands off the table like he'd been burnt. he's not quite raging, so the face he returns their stares with is sheepish and flushing dark green. he slumps back into his seat with an awkward grimace around his tusks. "sorry. um. we were getting off track again. i think we should stick to the blunt trauma thing. something that adaine can hit with that doesn't need training to master."

"and not a gun," adds fabian, picking himself up off the floor as coolly as he can manage. adaine just barely misses her window to _mage hand_ his shoelaces together.

fig crosses her feet on adaine's lap and rocks back, humming. kristen contorts into an even stranger parody of sitting to frown at the ceiling. riz stares despairingly at the gigantic zigzag that cuts his notes in two.

finally, gorgug says, "how about. okay-- adaine, how do you picture yourself dealing damage with the focus?"

adaine considers.

adaine pictures herself dealing damage and sees

 _(flashing silver, her shadow stretching, the promise to_ kill you so bad _an inch from fulfillment, the misjudged depth of the heart in aelwyn's blood-slick chest)_

that her hands have curled into claws so she curls them all the way into fists, thinks of missing the punch aimed at aelwyn's face that first day of school, thinks of _swinging--_

adaine clenches her fists together and mimes a swing.

the click of fig's fingers snaps adaine's eyes wide open. fig nearly climbs into her lap as she pitches forward, and when adaine whips her head around to look at her face fig is grinning, wide and brilliant, dimples set deep on either side of her mouth. beaming, fig tells her, "a _bat._ "

adaine uncurls her fists, and curls them again. pictures warm wood or cold metal solid between her fingers, blunt force over tearing claws and ripping teeth, the crack of a well-placed swing hitting its mark.

(oh, _god,_ one day she's going to have to work through this gordian knot of horrible feelings and figure out whether she's proud of or disgusted with herself for the mess she'd made of aelwyn when she only meant to beat her with magic, not like _this,_ but today--)

"yeah." adaine returns the grin. "yeah, i'd like a bat."

**Author's Note:**

> [context!](https://s-aint-elmo.tumblr.com/tagged/werewolf-adaine-au)


End file.
